


Speak the Speech I Pray You

by ShyTortise



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, Happy Ending, I wanted to write a heat fic, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Sex Toys, but I am not as good at smut as I would like, no beta ha ha, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyTortise/pseuds/ShyTortise
Summary: Aziraphale is usually very careful about suppressing his heats. Unfortunately even an ethereal being can forget their medication and cycles can hit at inopportune times. Fortunately there's a Snake that can't leave well enough alone ever.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 239





	Speak the Speech I Pray You

**Author's Note:**

> My idea of ABO is more like guidelines, not actual rules. Alpha is appearance, order, admin. Beta is protector, devil's advocate, speaks truth to power. Gamma is mediator, caretaker, or mom friend. Omega is social lead, debater, negotiator, rabble rouser.

Aziraphale is an Alpha.

This must be known to understand many things about the wayward principality. Alphas are, by design, created to protect, to keep order. This single minded focus tends to be detrimental to their empathy, so it is an important moment when an Alpha decides to surpass their instincts and bend the rules, perhaps even break them when they feel those rules are a danger to their in-group. 

It goes against the grain. Adam and Eve, they’re family! He has guarded them since they were created, and to send them out into the dangerous world, where he is forbidden to follow goes against every instinct he has. So he leads them away from the gates, and the other angels waiting to administer punishment, and breaks a hole in the wall.

“Through there.” He presses his sword into Adam’s hand, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “Don’t thank me.” He has broken the rules he had been made to uphold, but he will not abandon those who need protection. “And don’t let the sun go down on you here.” When the humans don’t go through any of the marked gates the other angels will scour the garden for them, and if they are found...he refuses to think of what will happen.

Eve clasps his hand and for a moment he feels like he has done the right thing. Then they are out into the harsh sun of the desert and he returns to his post.

The Demon is an Omega.

Aziraphale can smell it on the wind preceding the First Storm. Omegas are caretakers, questioners, designed to lead the in-group to better health physically and emotionally. Some might argue that an Omega’s prerogative is to cater to the Alpha of the in-group, Aziraphale believes this is categorically false. They are as critical to the in-group’s safety as the Alpha, because they have their finger on the pulse of the pack, people go to them for help, advice, just to relax. 

Aziraphale is certain he’s not supposed to relax with a demon but for the first time, since being assigned to his Gate, he doesn’t feel like he needs to pretend. The humans are out in the desert, he will be punished, but now there is nothing but the wind and the sky.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

* * *

Aziraphale is enjoying the last few sips of his champagne when he feels the twist and coil of his gut. For a moment he wonders if perhaps the stress of the past few days has turned his stomach, even an ethereal being can suffer from anxiety, as he is almost certain he’s been proving for six thousand years.

“S’matter?” He turns his attention back to Crowley to say that he’s fine, and the gravity of his situation sinks in along with the cinnamon and sandalwood scent of his dinner companion.

“Oh...uh...I’m sorry my dear I...I have to go.” He’s calling himself eight million different kinds of buffoon as he stands up, trying not to sway closer to Crowley’s enticing smell. Since the suppressants were invented he’s been controlling his heat, careful never to be in public when it hit. And yet the stress of the past eleven years, combined with the hullabaloo in the past week; all the rules closing in, swords of damocles hanging in a chandelier over his head and threatening everything he loves, he’s forgotten. The packet is in his bookshop, and it is too late. Taking them now won’t do a blessed thing. 

“Alright...you need a lift?” Crowley is looking around, checking corners, faces. He likely suspects a trap, foul play. Aziraphale wants to pull him up and kiss him, press him against the table and show him how beautiful and loved he is. An Alpha in heat is dangerous as they slowly lose themselves in the desire to abandon the tightly held control that defines them usually...and Aziraphale has no Beta to keep him in check, to keep others safe from him. For all her wonderful wit and common sense Ms. Device is no match for an angel out of his wits with lust and need.

“No! No, I’ll...I’ll see you in a week darling.” 

“A week?” 

Aziraphale practically runs out of the restaurant as he feels himself start to sweat, releasing pheromones into the air. It takes significant effort to ignore the eyes turning to follow him as his arousal wafts through the air, an invisible shameful display. A few humans sidle up to him, drawn by the scent, but he has enough presence of mind to use a few swift miracles to direct them to other humans who will take better care of them. 

The bookshop doors shut and lock behind him and he waves the old Blackout curtains down. He’s only just managed to strip out of his clothes before his wings are exploding into the material realm, shivering and fluttering as his sweat slick skin tingles in the cool air. He keens softly, unable to help himself. His bookshop smells of Crowley, and yet his demon is nowhere close. He staggers over to the couch and presses his face into the cushions reaching down to palm himself as the scent of thousands of evenings of Crowley lounging on it wraps around him. He ruts against his palm, opening his mouth to inhale more of that lovely spiced musk, imagining his mouth pressed against soft skin, tonguing against the fluttering pulse in that gorgeous throat. The noises the serpent would make, the soft gasps, and quiet moans…

Aziraphale comes with a whine, spurting all over his hand and the rug as his wings drag along the floor. It’s not enough, he’s still aching and desperate. The books, he can’t ruin the books...he pushes himself up, growling as he can smell his seed mixing with Crowley’s natural perfume. The image of the demon sprawled on the sofa, flushed and sated, fills his mind and he’s halfway to the door before he wrests control back and turns himself to the stairs and his warded flat. His instincts are screaming that he should find and claim what he wants, before Crowley leaves. Before his strict conformity and cowardice in the face of change, lose him the only being he’s ever wanted to rut against, take inside himself and hold, then seat himself inside and fill them with his essence, his scent, him.

He slams the door to the bedroom shut, barely able to call the miracle to activate the wards before the urge to take consumes him.

Aziraphale isn’t sure how long he’s been in the room; the first time his senses return he’s conscious of a mess unlike any he’s made before. His sheets are sodden and stiff with his spend and the furniture looks like a hurricane has come through. He’s drowning in his own musk, the odor reminding him of how very alone he is, and will be. He can’t stop the desolate wail as he grabs at his hair, messy wings flapping furiously in agitation. It’s never been so bad before, and Aziraphale knows why.

He’s always suffered his heats alone, conscious of Gabriel and Michael’s derision. They have no idea how he can be an Alpha like them when he is so soft, pitiable and lacking in ambition. Aziraphale’s instincts know that to be alone is to be safe, to be blameless if something should happen. But he has bent the rules too far this time, has cut the guidelines and firmly declared that Humanity is his in-group now, and he will fight tooth, nail and fang for them. He should be finding comfort in his group, promising them all of him, his protection, his love, his devotion and service...but he is alone in his room, because only one person on the planet would be able to handle him, and he will not force Crowley to bow to base instincts. His serpent has been a champion of choice and free will for millenia, and Aziraphale will not risk the comfort of his company for anything, not even his heat.

The second time the urges fade enough for him to think, the room looks even worse. There are scratches along the walls, the window is fractured and the door looks as if a beast has been at it. Which, he thinks distantly, is a rather apt comparison. He is sore, but the need throbbing between his legs has not faded. He glances down to find one of the toys he had purchased on a whim pressed deep inside his dripping opening, it is not Crowley, but he can imagine it is clenching down with a whine. 

The faint tinkle of a bell drifts to his ears and for a brief second the feverish boil of the heat is replaced by ice-cold fear. The toy presses against his cervix and he bites his lip, listening desperately. He is vulnerable, if it is Heaven or Hell come for vengeance; but if it is the silly human mafia then _they_ are in grave danger. He can’t control himself, and if the wards are broken...no.

“Aziraphale?”

Oh no…

“Crowley…” Even whispering the demon’s name is too much and his hips rock down on the toy, a soft whine escaping him.

“Look, if you’ve got company I won’t interrupt but...I need to know you’re ok.”

His thoughts fuzz as he fucks himself on the toy to Crowley’s voice. Why would he have company? The answer hits him as he lands hard on the unforgiving rubber and gasps. The smell! Crowley can no doubt taste the sex in the air, and shame unfolds inside Aziraphale. He rips the toy out of with a hiss and throws it, biting his lip to keep from sobbing at how empty he feels. 

“Angel?” He can hear the stairs creak.

“No! No...I...I’m fine da-...dear boy…” He sounds terrible, his throat raw from whatever animal sounds have been escaping him. His hands are too slick to snap and the wards will allow him no miracles until the heat has passed but he tries all the same. The door to the bedroom is locked, but that has never stopped Crowley before.

“Bullshit!” The doorknob rattles and Aziraphale scrambles for something to cover himself with, but everything is broken or filthy. He barely manages to fold his wings around himself as the door opens and he is hit with a blast of every smell that is Crowley. Leather and cinnamon, sandalwood and fresh turned earth. His cock manifests heavy and swells to full hardness in seconds even though he can see nothing but the awful state of his own feathers.

“What the hell happened here?!” 

He can’t respond, his mouth is full of Crowley’s scent, and he jerks as he nearly orgasms from that alone. 

“Was it the others? Did they come for you? Angel talk to me!” How can Crowley not know immediately? But Aziraphale is glad for it, it gives him a few seconds to try and collect himself.

“I’m fine, Crowley...please...please…” He wants to tell the demon to leave, but the first plea leaves his lips and all he can think of is skin against his mouth, sinking inside Crowley to make him squeal and moan so prettily. “Crowley…”

“Oh...Oh shit…” The click of Crowley’s throat as he swallows drowns out the pounding of the blood in Aziraphale’s ears and he shudders, cock bobbing as he resists the urge to touch himself. “That...that’s heat... _your_ heat. I thought it...some other Omega...um…” 

Aziraphale can’t find the words to ask what on earth Crowley means, but he can feel his grip on himself fading quickly. “Run...please...not like this I never wanted this to be how I had you…”

“You thought about me?”

Aziraphale’s mind flits back to all the times he’s imagined having Crowley. In him, under him, over him. Sucking or licking until those gorgeous legs quivered over his shoulders and back. He comes back to the present, drawn by the sensuous smell of the demon, to find himself pinning Crowley to the wall. “Darling run. Please...I can’t...you don’t want-”

"You don't get to tell me what I want." It's a reflexive strike, he can tell, Crowely lashes out when he's caught on the back foot. But this is not a circumstance where Aziraphale can react properly. Instead he finds his hand gripping the serpent's chin, baring his throat forcibly, his teeth centimeters from skin he has dreamt about for centuries.

"Bless it all!" He rips himself away staggering back to the window, digging his fingers into the sill. "Go. Stay...whatever you like just...not in here. Darling _please_!" His wings are mantling and he can feel his mind going fuzzy. 

"Hells…" Crowley's voice sounds choked but Aziraphale doesn't look. If he does he knows he'll next find himself having taken advantage of the most precious person in his world. "Alright...but after this, we're talking. You're not getting out of this." His tongue feels too thick and clumsy to respond, but he doesn't have to. The door shuts with a quiet click and he hears the soft creak of the floorboards as Crowely leaves. 

The relief that floods him sends him to his knees, and then he's lost again.

The third time Aziraphale returns to his senses he is aching, cold, and surrounded by broken furniture. He pushes himself up, hissing as his wings drag along the splintered floor. His head throbs but he ignores the pain, looking for any hint Crowley might have risked coming back. There are no bloodstains, or signs of a fight...that he can make out in the wreckage of his bedroom; and yet the demon's smell permeates the entire room. 

His heat has ended, he can feel it in the hollow echoing of his chest, in how Crowley's scent comforts him rather than arousing him, well, arousing him beyond its usual capacity anyway. Aziraphale staggers to his feet willing a plush housecoat into existence to cover himself. He tucks his wings away, promising himself he will groom them later, when he feels...more the thing.

The ward has run its course along with the heat and the door swings open at his touch...then promptly collapses in pieces. "Oh...oh dear." He'd tried desperately to escape then, probably to chase Crowley, run the Omega down until-

He shakes himself and ties the robe loosely, skin feeling tacky in the cool dry air of the bookshop. The stairs creak softly as he descends, looking around for any hint of the wily serpent he can practically taste in the air under the embarrassing wealth of his own musk. "Crowley?" Why is the demon hiding? Did something happen after- He freezes, foot hovering over the final step. "Oh lord, I didn't hurt you did I?!"

"I'm fine angel." He flinches hard enough to send one shoulder of the robe sliding down as Crowley materializes from a shadow Aziraphale is almost certain he'd looked into. Demons and their lurking. "You're the one what got put through the wringer."

"Nonsense dear boy." He pulls himself up straight and steps off the last stair, and his legs immediately betray him. The lingering stress of his heat and the relief at seeing Crowley uninjured send him falling to the ground. He has no time to brace himself for impact, but he never hits the floor. Crowley is holding him up, lithe body pressing against him in support.

"Fuck! Aziraphale are you okay?" For a moment the angel lets himself relax, nuzzling the soft cloth of Crowley's shirt.

"Tickety boo, darling." He can feel long fingers digging into the soft flesh of his triceps through the soft fabric of the robe.

"You keep calling me that I'm gonna get ideas." Crowley’s breath ghosts along his ear and he finds his gaze caught by the fluttering pulse under the sharp jawline.

"Hm?"

"Darling."

"Yes?" He realizes just how far his mouth has run away with him as Crowley makes a noise that sounds like a few aspirants and a glottal stop mashed together. "Oh dear, I'm sorry. I'm still a little...I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable." He tries to pull away...and can't. Crowley tugs him back

"Uncomfortable." It lacks the tone of a question, and Aziraphale feels heat crawling up the back of his neck, climbing the tips of his ears.

"I suppose you don't-, I do understand, I made you wait for so long but I hope you know I was always working towards this." He waves a hand in a vague motion, huffing as he realizes it’s out of Crowley’s line of sight. "With you. Us."

"Us." There’s a tone there, reminiscent of the debacle in the bandstand; and Aziraphale winces, resisting the urge to step back. He’d picked a side last week, and he wasn’t about to run away again.

"I won't press, you don't need to answer now, or ever. I will content myself with whatever you wish to bestow upon me."

"Angel-"

"Of course it was very reckless of you to enter my room during a heat-" he has vague recollections of Crowley saying something about another Omega “-even if you didn't think it was mine."

"What?!"

"But I am very grateful you came, even though I know I shouldn't be. I'm a frightfully selfish person I know-"

"Let me get a word in will you?" He finds himself being pinned to a bookshelf. Much like Tadfield Manor he doesn't feel threatened, instead he feels... protected. Sheltered. "For Hell's sake angel, I wouldn't go running into a heat rutting if I wasn't damned sure I could handle the fallout." The demon huffs and Aziraphale watches his glasses slip down the aquiline nose and bites his lip, hoping for a glimpse of lovely amber eyes. "As if any human would be a threat to me."

"Crowley-" He knows Crowley isn’t violent in nature, volatile yes, but he prefers to approach problems from an angle.

"All I’d do is show them who's the better Omega, besides you're my Alpha. I've got more idea what to do with you than some-"

"Wait a blessed minute! I'm not your Alpha!" Not that he can deny how fervently he's wished he were.

"You are." Crowley says it with the same conviction as someone saying the sun is hot.

"We haven't bonded! I never challenged-" the angel cuts himself off and tries again. "I didn't provide for you at all!"

"You told me to think of something, and I did. I rose to your challenge. As for providing, angel, have you forgotten Babylon? What about the Han Dynasty? That excursion in Egypt back in the fifteen aughts? I know you didn't forget about the holy water. And you protected me from absolute destruction by Hell, just last week."

"You did the same!"

"You refused to abandon our in-group."

"You wouldn't really have left them."

"No angel, I would have. And I would have regretted every single moment of it. You stopped me. You didn't give up, you pushed me to keep trying."

"Pushed you away you mean, I'm perfectly aware of how abominable my behavior was." He leans forward, letting his head rest on Crowley's shoulder. "Please forgive me, darling. I should never have used your nature against you."

"Well, no. But I get it angel, I do. You were trying to follow the rules and still protect everything." The demon takes a slow breath. "I forgive you. I mean, I'll be livid if you do it again, but let's start fresh. Seems the thing y’know. Stopped the end of the world and all."

Aziraphale snorts softly. “The not quite Apocalypse, hm? Well, that went down like a lead balloon." 

Crowley goes very still. "What?"

"Lead balloon. Awful Idea really, just as well it never really got off the ground." He glances up through his eye lashes, pleased to see the corner of the demon’s mouth twitching up.

"Angel, you're terrible…"

Aziraphale sniffs daintily. "I am an angel, it isn't possible for me to be terrible." The laugh that wins him is bright and clear.

"I'm on to you angel, prepare for your thwart to be wiled." Crowley lets go of one arm to press Aziraphale’s head up and back against the shelf, looking into his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were going into heat?"

He looks away from his own reflection, trying to duck his head. "Ididnno."

"Say again?"

"I didn't know!” He glares at the sunglasses, almost wishing he could miracle them away. But that would be rude. “I only realized I'd forgotten my suppressants when I wanted to ravish you over the table instead of just kiss you."

"Um?!" The hand under his chin drops and he ducks away from the stare burning behind the tinted lenses.

"I knew I had to get away as fast as possible, and I didn't dare think what I would do in the Bentley. Your smell all around me, the leather seats, you sitting so close-" he can almost taste the air in the car, heavy and sweet on his tongue. “-I would have done something truly unforgivable. You deserve to choose. I’m not some staff-up-my-ass bellend who insists that an Omega must be subservient to the Alpha, you’re an equal, you always have been.” He’s babbling, trying to talk around the point and it won’t work because Crowley is staring at him, flaying away his defenses. 

“You said that in the heat wasn’t how you’d wanted me.” Aziraphale shivers as he remembers, so close to Crowley’s throat, drowning in the demon’s scent.

“...I need you to choose me because you want to...not because of…” His hand flutters until long warm fingers slide delicately up his wrist, then twine between his. The touch is electric and his unnecessary pulse gallops like an excited thoroughbred, the heat it brings turning his words molten and sending them forth from his own personal vesuvius. “I want you Crowley, I’ve wanted you in ways that are selfish and cruel, ways that made me so ashamed of myself I lied to us both about why I was avoiding you. I’ve wanted you with such gentle longing I lost myself in the imagining, only to find my corporation a weeping mess when I finally came back.”

He stares at Crowley’s clavicle, imagining pressing a kiss there to convey everything he’s feeling. But words are important, and he’s put off saying these words in particular for far too long. Aziraphale takes a breath and soldiers on before he can lose his momentum.

“I want you in all ways and I want you willing. I don’t want pity, or a choice made by our natures.” He has to look, he has to make sure Crowley knows how serious he is. The angel swallows hard and jerks his head up. “I want to be worthy of you…” His mouth goes dry at the amber lined obsidian pools boring into him. 

“Aziraphale...I wasn’t exactly subtle.” The demon’s voice is rough, and he takes the glasses off completely with his free hand, the other rubbing it’s thumb along Aziraphale’s wrist.

“I can’t assume about something like this Crowley.” Aziraphale stands firm, holding those topaz eyes with his own. “Yes we’ve been dancing around each other, trading favors and gifts, the occasional affectionate touch, but that is not explicitly stated intent.” 

“Oh for- Of all the things _this_ is what you get all Alpha about?” 

“It’s important! I never wanted you to feel pressured to conform to my desires, or change yourself to suit me.”

“You thought I would? That’s arrogant.”

“Considering the relationships both of us have seen throughout history I don’t think it is.”

“All the lunch dates, the gifts-”

“You never _said_ anything.”

“ ‘cause it would’ve been suicide!”

“Then why is my refusal to assume your willing arrogance instead of prudence?”

He tenses as Crowley leans down, breath hitching as soft hair tickles his jaw, the press of the demon’s forehead warm on his bare shoulder, the shaky inhale pulling his soul closer to Crowley’s mouth. “...because I wanted you to.” Aziraphale licks his lips and slides his free hand up the back of Crowley’s neck.

“I wanted to as well, desperately. But we’re here now.” In a position that any culture would call intimate, Aziraphale shivering from the press of Crowely’s body and the air of his shop, the robe slowly giving up its claim to his torso. “I need you to _tell_ me Crowley.” He is an Alpha, he needs to be certain that he is doing the right thing.

The taller being growls something against his skin, hellfire hot and harsh before clutching him close. “I want you Aziraphale. Be mine, only mine.”

“Yes my dear. And you will be my only, my dearest one?”

“Yesss."

**Author's Note:**

> I stewed over this too long and it burnt me out, but I think this stands fairly well as is. I hope it was an enjoyable read.


End file.
